


Passed Presents

by katiemariie



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s05e06 Trials and Tribble-ations, F/F, Gen, Interspecies Relationship(s), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 19:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12871728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/pseuds/katiemariie
Summary: Or Four Times Uhura Didn't Meet Jadzia Dax and the One Time She Did.Based on details from the expanded universe, Uhura's long life intersects with Dax hosts--past, present, and future.





	Passed Presents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NervousAsexual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/gifts).



2360

Uhura doesn’t see her face until halfway through her talk, buried as it is in a stack of PADDs. There’s always one in every class: a scribbler hunched over their notes, tapping the entire hour away, not taking any chances, lacking the confidence to distinguish the noteworthy from the unremarkable.

Uhura reminds herself to go easy on those most fervent notetakers; not everyone can have total recall of every sound they’ve ever heard. They probably sleep better for it.

So she suspends judgment as the young woman looks up, revealing a face that at first glance—as Uhura’s brain fills in the deficiencies of her 20/20 vision with memory and presumption—appears entirely Human. A fraction of a second corrects that misperception, bringing the spots of a homeworld Trill into focus.

The scribbler’s hand shoots up, a rigid performance of a wholly Human custom. 

Uhura isn’t at a natural stopping point, but she pauses anyway. “Yes, cadet?”

“You mentioned that early simultaneous translation devices actually processed sound waves, converting them from one known language to another. However, thanks in large part to your work, the most advanced Universal Translators read brain waves, specifically those associated with the speech act.”

The sound of her voice strikes Uhura with its eerie familiarity, combining with a face that should be Human to create an entirely uncanny being.

She almost asks, “Have we met before?” before realizing they truly haven’t and if she asks they never will. (You don’t make it to your twelfth decade by muddling with your own timeline.)

Instead, Uhura simply gives a professorial nod. “Yes.”

“Well,” the cadet continues, “it would seem theoretically possible then to translate all brain waves using similar technology.”

The audacity of the statement draws Uhura back into the moment, the year, the decade, the century. “You mean a Universal Mind Reader?” The class titters and Uhura smiles, softening the admonition. “You’re not wrong; theoretically, it’s entirely possible. But that was a line my team was unwilling to cross.”

The cadet blushes, looking back down at her PADD, looking younger than she has any right to. “I suppose there are ethical concerns.”

“Absolutely. Perhaps if there is time your professor could bring me back later in the term for a lecture on ethics in audio-linguistic engineering. But for today I’ll focus on the science. As I was saying...”

-

2350

“My dearest, darlingest Ambassador Uhura,” the liver-spotted Trill trills, “why must you turn from me?”

Uhura turns in her seat, nearly thwacking her aide in the face with her tumbler. “Curzon, when did you get here?”

Dax grabs his chest. “You wound me. I’ve been here all this time, waiting. What do I have to do to get your attention? Shall I slay a dozen targs? I’ll do it. Climb a mountain and plant your picture as the flag? Point the way. Serenade you with—”

His aide, the baby-faced engineering lieutenant whose name Uhura cannot entirely recall in her current state of inebriation—Simpson? Simcoe? something American?—preemptively covers his ears.

“There was a time,” Uhura interrupts, “when all of this—” She manages just enough coordination to gesture vaguely at Curzon. “—would have worked. Eighty years ago, if you would have approached me and talked about the moon and quoted poetry, I might have been interested. But now—”

“There are still moons,” Curzon counters. “There is still poetry.”

“True, but I’m more interested in sincerity.”

“I’m sincere!” he protests far too loud.

“You’re drunk.”

“In vino veritas.” He spreads his arms wide, knocking over two empty wine bottles and one very expensive candelabra.

“See?” Uhura gestures, splashing her drink across the table.

The candelabra’s still flickering wick quickly catches on the cask-strength whisky, sending a lick of flames down the table.

Despite their protests of diplomatic immunity, Uhura and Dax both find themselves (and their aides) ejected from the lounge in short order.

Uhura sways slightly in the night air. “I think we should call it a night.”

“I think—” Curzon swallows a belch. “—we should get gyros.”

She links her arm in his, steadying herself. “That’s the first honest proposition you’ve made all night.”

-

2284

As Uhura winds her way to the nearest (but far too distant) buffet table, a familiar low voice cuts through the packed ballroom: “I believe I see someone from whose acquaintance you may benefit.”

Despite her gnawing hunger (coming straight from the simulator deck was, as always, a bad idea), she finds herself suddenly drawn into an existing conversation.

“Captain Dax, this is Commander Uhura, Starfleet Training Commander’s foremost communications expert. Commander Uhura, this is Captain Dax, a test pilot for the Trill Aerospace Commission.”

And with a nod of his head, Spock disappears into the crowd, pulling the same party trick he has for decades now. Uhura almost regrets teaching it to him.

Hoping to heaven that Admiral Normand doesn’t get to the crudite before she can get out of this, Uhura turns to her new acquaintance, offering a smile and her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Captain Dax.”

He shakes her hands firmly. “Please call me Torias.”

The name and the voice trigger a memory his face alone couldn’t summon. “Have we met before?”

The young man’s brash demeanor dissolves. He makes a show of straightening his cufflinks. “No, I don’t think we have.”

Perhaps if she were better fed, she wouldn’t push on, but her need to properly catalogue a voice has always bordered on compulsion. “What was it?” She taps her chin. “Oh, I remember. The Khemani Commission Awards. You took first in the young practitioner division.”

He looks up. “Oh, yes, of course.” He smirks. “I suppose you took second then?”

She pushes his shoulder playfully. “Watch out; flattery will get you everywhere with Starfleet.”

“I’ll try to contain myself; I wouldn’t want to get drafted. Although if you were giving me orders, I might reconsider.”

Uhura cocks her head to the side. “Now, if I recall correctly—” and she does “—the judges awarded first place to Torias Rotan, not Torias Dax.”

Torias adjusts his collar. “Uh, how much do you know about Trill culture, Commander?”

She touches his elbow. “Enough to know you have no reason for false modesty. You may still be young, but the homeworld government doesn’t bestow honorifics lightly. Especially one as prestigious as Dax.”

“Of course.” He nods. “I’m still getting used to how prestigious I am now. I was only given the title a few weeks ago.”

“It must be quite a change: going from Rotan to Dax.”

“More than you could ever know.” He touches her elbow lightly, mirroring her body language. “Excuse me; I think I see my wife.”

“Of course.” Uhura takes off for the buffet table without another word.

-

2266

“You’re leaving so soon?” Uhura asks.

Spock stops just short of the threshold, probably giving the door sensor a fit. “Captain Pike is not dead. I fail to see the purpose in conducting a memorial.”

“Commander, Captain Pike may still be alive, but none of us will ever see him again. It’s only Human to want to say goodbye.”

“And I have. Befitting my heritage, and for the benefit of fleet morale, I have stayed for half of this gathering. I appreciate your hospitality in arranging this occasion, but now I must retire.”

“Very well. Thank you for coming.”

Spock nods once and leaves.

Uhura slumps into her chair, letting the plush upholstery standard to Starbase 8 envelope her. If she weren’t playing hostess to the this grim party, she would call it a night now. Grief, even in cases as ambivalent as Captain Pike’s, is exhausting.

It was good of Spock to stay as long as he did, but Uhura wishes he hadn’t left. Of all the people here, only she and Spock had served directly under Captain Pike. The other senior officers of Pike’s Enterprise have all gone on to bigger and more bureaucratic things, leaving Spock and Uhura behind to mourn with junior officers who deeply admired their former captain but never really knew or worked with him.

Uhura supposes her event attracted the best crowd it could hope for given its remote location. She could hardly expect Boyce or Tyler to come all the way from San Francisco for a living man’s funeral. She supposes they’re mourning in their own ways just as she is mourning in hers: throwing a party before the grief has time to take root.

A figure enters her peripheral vision.

“Lieutenant Uhura?” a low, almost motherly voice asks.

Uhura turns, bringing the towering Trill into focus. “Yes?”

“Do you mind if I…?” The Trill points to the chair next to Uhura.

“No.” Uhura pulls herself up in her seat, straightening her posture. “Go right ahead.”

The woman sits down with the kind of grace and dignity far beyond her years—45 at the most. “I must be returning to my ship soon, but before I left I wanted to thank you for arranging this memorial. I’ve greatly appreciated the opportunity to reflect on Christopher’s life and what his absence will mean for the Federation.”

“Thank you for coming.” Uhura pauses. “Were you a friend of the captain or…” She trails off, giving the Trill the opportunity to deny whatever intimacy she and “Christopher” may have shared.

“Colleagues. We served together very briefly, only for a single mission, I’m afraid.” She looks down at her hands. “Just before his accident. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t keep in touch after that.”

Uhura covers the woman’s spotted hand with her own. “Very few did.”

The Trill looks up at her, fire in her watery eyes. “That doesn’t make it right.”

Uhura withdraws her hand. “No, it doesn’t. But maybe it makes the captain’s decision easier to understand.”

“I forgive Christopher for what he’s done, but I don’t think I will ever understand a man with life still in him abandoning his people for a dangerous fantasy.”

Uhura turns in her chair to face the Trill head on. “That’s the problem, don’t you see? After the accident, the captain’s people—including me at times—treated him like a dead man. Most of us lost touch with him, many of us mourned his loss. People spoke of him in the past tense while he was still in the room. The accident may have changed his body, but we turned him into a ghost.”

Tears line the Trill’s lashes. “So, you are saying the fault lies with me?”

Uhura sighs with more force than necessary. “I’m saying that we all hold responsibility for making real life seem less desirable than a fantasy. Captain Pike rejected us as a society, not individually, and to make this conversation, this moment of connection about your feelings of guilt rather than our shared responsibility, to place that burden on me, someone who knew Captain Pike beyond a single mission when I haven’t even…” Her next words come out as a choked sob as she breaks down, finally and for the first time, in tears.

Hiding her face in her hands, Uhura feels a warm weight settle on her shoulder and drift to her upper back to rub slow circles.

“I’m sorry,” the Trill murmurs. “That was no way for a woman of my age to act.”

Uhura sniffles. “You’re not much older than I am.”

“Perhaps. But I am old enough to know better. I hope you’ll forgive my emotions for getting the better of me.”

Uhura lifts her head, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Only if you’ll forgive mine.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I disrespected your mourning by placing the weight of my guilt on your shoulders. You only tried to return the load.” She squeezes Uhura’s shoulder. “You don’t always have to be so diplomatic, lieutenant. Sometimes only one party is at fault.”

Uhura crosses her right arm over her body to gently grip the Trill’s wrist. “Thank you…” Uhura scans the woman’s outfit for any sign of rank or title and finds only civilian attire. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“Apologies. I’m Audrid Dax.”

“Then thank you, Audrid Dax.”

“You are more than welcome, Lieutenant Uhura.” Audrid slowly pulls her hand away from Uhura who relinquishes her grip on her wrist. “Unfortunately, I really must be going now. My ship made a detour so my husband and I could attend the memorial. I’m afraid the captain’s patience may be running thin. Do forgive me.”

“Of course,” Uhura says.

Audrid stands, smoothing the lines of her grey tunic. “Thank you for your hospitality. And your forgiveness.”

“Thank you for coming. If you’d ever like to talk about Captain Pike, you can reach me through Starfleet.”

Audrid nods. “I’ll keep in touch.”

And to Uhura’s surprise, she does.

-

2268

Uhura steps into the turbolift, shaken from the orders she’s just given. “Capture all of them—dead or alive. We just need them all contained.” She’s relayed worse orders: fire on target, load photon torpedoes, shoot to kill. In some cases, she’s even carried those orders out herself.

But none have gnawed at her very Humanity like the orders she just gave.

She would need to consult Dante to be sure, but she imagines there’s a ring in the Inferno dedicated to people who betray their poor, defenseless pets.

God only knows what maintenance will do with them once they’re rounded up.

If only she could save one Tribble. Just one Tribble to hold to her cheek and soothe her and make her feel less lonely, less adrift in space.

But she can’t. 

She lets out a long sigh and leans against the turbolift wall. Just as she reaches for the nearest handle, an operations division lieutenant slips inside. The leggy lieutenant—being equal in rank, Uhura feels comfortable appreciating her most noticeable feature—towers over her. Uhura allows herself a moment of distraction before turning the lift handle and requesting a ride to one of the upper decks.

The doors close, the lift rises, and Uhura waits for the lieutenant to request her own destination. Instead, her long stems stay planted in the middle of the turbolift, hands far from any handle. 

She looks over her shoulder at Uhura. “Penny for your thoughts?”

The antiquated expression sets Uhura aback. “Pardon?”

“You seemed a little preoccupied. Anything dire happening on board I should know about?” The lieutenant’s eyes twinkle like she’s a jolly old Santa Claus in a neo-sentimentalist drawing.

“Nothing too exciting. I was just thinking of how much I’m going to miss the Tribbles.”

The lieutenant takes one long step backward, joining Uhura against the wall of the turbolift. “Really?”

“I know they’re a pest, but—”

“They’re a cute pest,” the lieutenant fills in.

“Yes. And so soft. And the way they purr.”

The lieutenant leans down toward Uhura, bumping shoulders. “Sounds to me like you could use a cat.”

“Oh, no. I spent too much time decorating my quarters to let a cat loose in there.” She pauses. “Perhaps I could get an iguana.”

“An iguana?” The lieutenant smiles. “That’s a long way from a Tribble.”

“I have a friend—she transferred to another ship, but I won’t name names because you might run into her someday—well, she turned into an iguana and she said—”

“Wait. She turned into an iguana?”

“Not on purpose.”

“Of course.”

“It was only for a few hours but she said it was very peaceful. All she wanted to do was lie in the sun and eat fruit.”

“Hmmm.” The lieutenant leans down even further, her eyelashes threatening to scrape Uhura’s nose. “That sounds like a good time to me.”

“Does it?” Uhura asks, surprised by but quite enjoying this conversation’s new direction. Who needs a Tribble when a warm blooded officer is willing to cuddle up?

“Oh, yeah.” The lieutenant’s voice grows huskier by the word. “Stretching out in the sun, wearing nothing but mango juice on my chin, what’s not to like?”

“You’re very forward, lieutenant,” Uhura says even as she presses her hip against the taller woman’s thigh. “We’ve only just met; we’re practically strangers.”

The lieutenant draws closer, reaching a hand around Uhura to grab the wall handle. “The way I see it…” She turns the handle, stopping the lift with a jolt that sends their bodies flush against one another. “...we know each other by now.”

A breath away, Uhura nuzzles the tip of her nose against the lieutenant’s chin. “But only a little.”

The lieutenant tucks a finger under Uhura’s chin. “Would you like to know me more?”

“I think I’d like that.”

The lieutenant tilts Uhura’s chin upward and kisses her so soft and sweet Uhura can practically taste the mangoes. But then she pulls away with a deep shaky breath and a small step back.

The lieutenant presses two fingers to her own lips, a look of pure awe on her face. “I have _always_ wanted to do that.” 

Uhura steps forward, missing the contact. “Is there anything else you’ve wanted to do?”

The lieutenant takes Uhura’s hands, holding them fondly to her chest. “So much. But I can’t. Not now.”

“Then how about tonight?” Uhura purrs.

The lieutenant winces, dropping Uhura’s hands. “I’m leaving the Enterprise.”

“Right now?” Just her luck.

“As we speak. But I had to stop first to kiss a beautiful woman.”

Uhura holds a hand to her chest. “Well, I’m glad you did. Although I wish you had done more.”

“So do I.” The lieutenant holds her hands behind her back. “But maybe I will the next time around.”


End file.
